The door to the terrace swung shut behind him with a soft click. Dax walked down the corridor toward the office at the back of the villa, his steps silent on the marble, the muted gold embroidery at his cuffs catching the light as he moved.
He kept his face blank out of habit, but his jaw ached from holding it tight. 'Years of waiting,' he thought. 'Years of bonds failing and time wasted with engagements that got nowhere. And when I finally find one…'
The thought trailed off, replaced by a low burn in his chest. Chris, sitting across from him, bright and wary, said he'd never had a heat. Saying it like an accusation, as if Dax had chosen this. The words had landed harder than he'd expected.
'He's alive. He's whole. That should be enough.' He reached the office door and braced one hand against the frame, fingers pressing into the wood until his knuckles were white.
